[acting as a balloon salesman to a group of thugs] Step right up here! Don't be shy! Nobody likes a bashful leather head! [Pause] MOVE IT! [the thugs approach him] For my first trick...I'll do something for you, son. [makes a giraffe-shaped balloon] We have a giraffe. [Offers it to a thug] There you go, son. Now get out of here. You bother me. Now...[pulls out what appears to be a used condom] Sorry, wrong pocket. For you, son. Little body English. [makes a poodle-shaped balloon] A French poodle. [Rips it apart before the thug can take it] Sorry, son. The dog was rabid. Had to put her down. And, last but not least, my favorite. [makes a gun-shaped balloon, which transforms into a rather rubbery submachine gun. He aims it at the thugs] A Tommy gun!! [as the thugs run away. the Mask shoots at them while laughing manically]

50 grand. 50 grand to the man who finds that green-faced son of a bitch before the cops do. I want you to get the word out to every street hustler, to every lowlife in this town. I want him in here tomorrow, alive. You still here? Come on, let's go!

I'm just an ex-employee, who's come for his back pay. Or should I say, payback!

Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be your host for the remainder of the evening.

The Mask: As a matter of fact I do, Cubby. [pulls a watch out of his pocket] Look at that! It's exactly two seconds before I honk your nose and pull your underwear over your head! [A strong tick is heard, Mask honks punk's nose and pulls his underwear over his head]

Bobby: Uh, are you on the list?

The Mask: Nooooo. But I believe my friends are. Perhaps you know them. [He takes fistfuls of high denomination cash out of his pocket] Franklin, Grant, and... Jackson?

Driver: Hey, get out of the road!

The Mask: I think he wants to communicate! [The Mask holds up a tiny horn that says "Squeeze me gently". He does so, blowing it at the driver. The horn let a loud "BA-OOOOOOO-YAH!" and shatters the car's windows with its volume. The horn turns into it's normal size and the Mask blows on the end like a gun, dusts himself and leaves.]

Dorian Tyrell: Son of a bitch! [throws the cigarette lighter over the glass window; to Eddie] Eddie, who did this, man?! WHO!!?

Eddie:[pointing to The Mask] Him! Him! Look ,that's — that's the guy!

Dorian Tyrell: That guy dancin' with Tina? He's dead meat. Come on!

Dorian Tyrell: Okay, Twinkle-Toes, I want to know where my money is and I want to know right now!

The Mask: Okay. [puts on a green eyeshade and pulls out an accounting machine] You've got 17.5% in T-bills amortized over the fiscal year. 8% in stocks and bonds. Carry the nine, divide by the gross national product. Fortunately, funeral bouquets are deductible!

Dorian Tyrell:[to Orlando] Ice this deadbeat!

Orlando:[begins shooting, which the mask easily dodges]

Dorian Tyrell: Shoot him!

The Mask: [turns into a matador] Toro! [turns into a cossack] Oy!Oy!Oy!Oy! [turns into Elvis] Thank you very much. Huh! Huh! [turns into a cowboy, who draws before his gun is shot out of his hand. A squish is heard] Ugh, ya got me partner.

Kellaway: All right, all right, un-freeze. [The Mask defrosts and falls to the ground] You're under arrest.

The Mask: [Desperate voice] No! It wasn't me! It was the one-armed man! [gets up, in normal voice] All right, I confess! I did it, ya hear? And I'm glad, glad I tell ya! [begs on the ground] What are they gonna do to me, Sarge? What are they gonna do?!

Kellaway: [slaps handcuffs on The Mask] Sorry, son, that's not my department. Search him! [The Mask is pulled up and his [endless] pockets are searched]

The Mask: Ow! Where's a camcorder when ya need one? [snorty laugh]

[Dorian has just donned the Mask]

Dorian Tyrell: What a rush!

Eddie: Whoa, boss! You OK?

Dorian Tyrell: Better than ever, you idiot.

Eddie: What do we do with Ipkiss?

Dorian Tyrell: The police are looking for The Mask. So we'll give them The Mask. (He laughs evily)

Mayor Tilton: No, Dorian Tyrell was the Mask. I saw it with my own eyes. This young man just saved our lives.

Mr. Dickey: Ipkiss, we have a crisis on our hands here and you stroll in over an hour late? If I have to put up with your slovenly behavior...

Stanley: BACK OFF, Monkey Boy, before I tell your daddy you're running this place like it's your own personal piggy bank. Or maybe we should call the IRS, and see if we can arrange a little vacation for you at Club FED!!!!!!!!!

Mr. Dickey:[shocked from being told off by his employee] That'll be all, Ipkiss.